


heart it races

by apollonian



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:13:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollonian/pseuds/apollonian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Phil saw his soulmate's name on his wrist, he tried to give himself a concussion. That's not how most people reacted, but most people didn't have Clint Barton as their soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heart it races

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucyycx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyycx/gifts).



> For lucyycx, on the occasion of her birthday :D Granted, this is a bit late, but happy birthday, and I hope you like it <3  
> Unbeta'd, please feel free to point out any glaring errors.

On the morning of his sixteenth birthday, Phil woke up with a faint sense of dread curling in his stomach. He was irrationally afraid of looking at the name on his wrist that should have appeared over the night, and he managed to successfully avoid doing so until he was in the shower, when he accidentally caught a glimpse while reaching for the shampoo.

Once the name scrawled in messy purple ink over the inside of his left wrist had sunk in, Phil groaned and thunked his head on the shower wall. It felt oddly nice, so he did it again, and cursed his life. Most people won't react to the reveal of their soulmate by trying to give themselves a concussion, but most people didn't have Clint Barton, archery whizkid with a heart of gold and subject of Phil's two-year long and still going strong crush, as their soulmate. 

The same Clint Barton whose sixteenth birthday had come and gone in early March (and had been celebrated with an epic party at Natasha Romanov's house, according to school gossip), and whose left wrist had remained tellingly bare, with no hint of one of those flesh-colored patches that people used to subtly hide their wrists. The same Clint Barton who had barely spoken ten words to Phil in the two years they'd been in high school together, not least because Phil was hardly popular and always seemed to get tongue-tied and awkward whenever he attempted to say anything to Clint.  

Phil's life _sucked_.

He explained as much to Maria over the phone, while staring at his closet and trying to figure out which long-sleeved shirt he could get away with wearing in the middle of a sweltering April. Coming to the conclusion that none of them would work, he reluctantly decided to go with the last resort.

He broke the comfortable silence he and Maria had fallen into and said, "I need to borrow one of your parents' patches for school tomorrow," trying not to sound as desperate as he felt. 

"Why the hell would you need to do that?" Maria replied. "This is the perfect opportunity to tell Barton about that Olympic sized torch you've been carrying for him!"

Phil spluttered. "That is an absurd idea, he doesn't even know who I am and even if he did, he probably thinks I'm an awkward weirdo."

"Well, given that you _are_ kind of an awkward weirdo..." Maria trailed off, laughing as Phil made an indignant noise. "Kidding, kidding! But seriously, why can't you just man up and go talk to him? You're not that invisible, I promise." 

"Because I can't!" Phil almost wailed. "My brain just stops working whenever I'm near him, you know that!"

He could almost hear Maria rolling her eyes. "Jesus, Phil, you're a piece of work," she sighed. 

Before he could protest, she continued. "Fine, I'll give you a few patches, they should last you about a month, alright? But you're buying me lunch at the diner for the next month."

"Thanks, Maria, you are a true goddess among women," Phil said, smiling with relief. At least he wouldn't have to stress about Clint's reaction to being his soulmate anytime soon.  

* * *

 

Of course, it turned out that he'd spoken too soon. Barely a week after his birthday, Phil walked into his biology class, one of the two classes he shared with Clint, and almost walked back out when he saw the popsicle sticks with students' names written on them laid out on the teacher's desk. Mr. Brown was either going to have a verbal pop quiz, which Phil hated, or a group project, which Phil hated even more. 

Out of the two, though, the pop quiz was definitely the better option. Group projects involved working with people who hated them as much as he did, and it also meant that there was the slight possibility that Clint would be assigned to work with him.

Phil crossed his fingers as he settled himself at his seat and the rest of the students trickled in, and fervently hoped that the first words out of Mr. Brown's mouth would be "pop quiz."

"Group projects today, guys," Mr. Brown declared happily, and Phil barely resisted the urge to drop his head onto his desk. "This will count for half of your semester grade, so remember to work hard on it!"

As Mr. Brown began assigning partners, Phil crossed all his fingers and prayed to every deity he could think of that Clint wouldn't be his partner.  His leg couldn't stop jumping with nerves; if Maria was in this class, she would've probably told him to stop freaking out and relax, but, well, she was stuck in Calculus all the way across the school, and sadly, they didn't share a telepathic connection, no matter how close they were.

"Barton, you're with Coulson," Mr. Brown said, and this time Phil didn't stop his head from falling into his hands.

He stayed that way for a few long minutes until a hesitant, painfully familiar voice spoke from above. "Hey, Phil, you okay?" Clint asked, a slight frown on his otherwise handsome face. "Do you need to go to the nurse?"

Phil told his traitorous heart to stop beating so damn fast, and mustered up a small, strained smile. "No, thanks, I'm just - peachy keen."

Clint laughed as he dropped into the seat next to him, and his eyes crinkled and his whole face opened up, and dammit, this project was going to ruin Phil's life, he could just tell. 

“So, do you want to meet at your house or mine today?” Clint asked, and Phil flailed for a second before regaining his wits – of course, this project would have limited in-class time, and they’d have to meet together outside of class to finish it.

“Um, anything works for me, but my house is closer to the school so that’s probably a better option,” Phil said, fighting the blush that always threatened to show up whenever he talked (or tried to talk) to Clint. At least he wasn’t speaking in awkward half-sentences like he usually blurted out before fleeing.

“Awesome,” said Clint, beaming, and jeez, Phil needed to send his dentist a fruit basket for maintaining those perfect teeth. Clint turned to face the front of the class as Mr. Brown began his lecture, and seriously, Phil’s heart really needed to get a grip on itself. Clint might be Phil’s soulmate, but the reverse certainly wasn’t true, and –

Wait. The name of your soulmate appeared on your non-dominant hand, and Clint, Clint was _left-handed,_ Phil could see him doodling random stuff on his notebook with the pen gripped securely in his left hand. Phil could’ve slapped himself. All this time, he’d been so focused on Clint’s left wrist, when it was the right one he should’ve been paying attention to.

Unfortunately, Clint was to the left of Phil, and his right hand was hidden under his desk. Phil groaned internally, and in the absence of a brilliant plan to uncover Clint’s right wrist, he tuned back to the lecture, but kept an eye on Clint, in case he needed to scratch an itch on his face or something that brought his wrist up to eye-level. No such thing happened throughout the class, not even while they were exchanging numbers and addresses, and he resigned himself to finding out the name (if there was one) on Clint’s wrist through some other method.

* * *

 

After school had ended, Clint and Phil walked back to Phil’s house slowly. Phil had carefully positioned himself so that he was on Clint’s left, and he could potentially see his right wrist. Meanwhile, he’d curled his own left hand around the strap of his backpack, since the patch he’d slapped on in the morning was peeling off and he didn’t want to stuff his sweaty hand in his jeans’ pocket.

They were chattering about school and teachers and the absolutely insane amount of homework they’d been assigned, and it was…surprisingly easy, and free of tension. Phil, probably for the first time ever, was not tongue-tied and awkward in front of Clint, and the conversation flowed smoothly. 

Neither of Phil’s parents were home, so he just took Clint straight up to his room, heart beating nervously as he remembered that he hadn’t really bothered to straighten up before leaving for school in the morning. Past him had not been expecting a visit from Clint Barton anytime soon.

“Sorry for the mess—,” he began, when Clint shook his head, dropping his backpack and surveying the room, and said, “Nah, man, it’s cool. It’s less messy than mine anyway. Those are some cool posters you’ve got there.”

Phil blushed. He had framed and put up a few of his most treasured Captain America posters, and he knew he was a little obsessed with the superhero, but c’mon, the guy was pretty much a role model for all of humanity. And anyway, Clint hadn’t made fun of them, he’d just said they were _cool_ , and Phil couldn’t resist the opening.

“You like Captain America too?” he asked.

It was Clint’s turn to blush, now, the tips of his ears turning the same pink as his cheeks, and Phil couldn’t help but find it hopelessly adorable 

“Yeah, I do. He’s so – he’s one of the best people in this world, you know? It doesn’t matter if he’s fictional, he’s just…fantastic,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders and spreading his hands. 

Dropping his backpack onto the bed, Phil didn’t stop the rush of excitement welling up in him. He rarely found someone to talk Cap with: Maria preferred the faster pace of the Agent Carter series, and it wasn’t like he had a large group of friends ready and willing to talk about comics (well, not outside of the internet, at least). 

“Which one of the series is your favorite?” he asked. Biology could wait for later, this was more important.

“You don’t start with the easy questions, do you,” Clint said, laughing, but he wandered over to Phil’s bookcase, jammed full with various collections and books, and picked out his well-worn copy of Brubaker’s run. “This one is for sure one of my all-time favorites. The writing, the art…it just fits together so well.”

Biology could _definitely_ wait for later, Phil was in love. “That’s one of my favorites too,” he said, walking to stand next to Clint. “So is this one,” he continued, pulling out another well-worn paperback. Clint’s eyes brightened, and he carefully placed the Brubaker collection back on the shelf, and took the one in Phil’s hand.

“Don’t you think the part where Cap and Bucky…” he began, and Phil instinctively knew which part he was referring to, and said, “ _Yes,_ definitely, one of the most awesome parts, but also that part, with the device – wait, let me show you, I found this really interesting write-up on it online—”

Before he knew it, it had been an hour, he and Clint had been intensely debating the merits of making Bucky Captain, and it had been the most fun Phil had had with someone not Maria in ages. They were sitting cross-legged on his bed, and Phil was emphatically driving in his point with sweeping hand gestures, and Clint was interjecting with his opinions, when suddenly, Clint froze.

Phil paused and frowned. “Clint, are you okay? I swear, the thing about the ownership of the shield was just—”

“No,” Clint interrupted, his eyes focused somewhere below Phil’s face. “No, I’m not worried about that, I just – were you ever going to tell me?” 

“Tell you?” Phil parroted, unsure what Clint was talking about. “…Tell you what?”

“That you have my name on your wrist,” Clint said. His eyes, Phil realized, were focused unerringly on his left wrist, where the patch must have flown off during one of Phil’s more enthusiastic gestures.

“…Oh,” Phil said, dumbly, “That.” His face was heating up, and he suddenly felt tongue-tied again. He honestly had never thought that Clint would ever find out that he was Phil’s soulmate, and he had no contingency plans for this, no idea what to do next. 

Clint shook his head, as if in a daze, and got off the bed abruptly, standing up. Phil’s heart was jackhammering in his chest, and he was sure that Clint was about to leave and never come back, that he’d screwed it all up. 

“Where’s the bathroom?” Clint asked. Phil was so thrown by the change in subject that he answered automatically. “Down the hallway, second door to your right.”

Clint left without another word, and Phil heard the tap turn on. He was still on the bed, frozen with shock. He really had no idea what was happening, and he wished he could call Maria right now and ask her what the hell to do next. He could already hear Clint’s footsteps coming back to his room, though, and there was no time to do anything except face what Clint had to say.

Clint’s face when he reentered the room, though, instead of looking angry, or even blank, was kind of bashful, and he was definitely pink around the ears again. 

“Sorry for rushing out on you like that, I just had to – well, just look here,” he said, thrusting his wet right wrist in front of a still-frozen Phil. He recognized his own cursive, scrawled over the inside of Clint’s wrist in blue ink, stark against his skin.

Phil couldn’t believe his eyes. He stared at his name for a long moment, until Clint started to pull his wrist away, and then he reached out and caught it, holding it still.

“Really?” he asked, looking up at Clint, thumb stroking over the soft skin of Clint’s wrist, as if to make sure his name was really there. 

“Really,” Clint said, his blush now spreading down to his cheeks. “I might’ve had a crush on you, for about a year or so, but I was just…too afraid of you to ever ask you out.”

Phil’s heart literally skipped a beat.

“We’re both a pair of idiots, then,” he said, unable to stop a wide grin from spreading across his face. “My best friend tells me I have been holding an Olympic sized torch for you, too.”

Clint’s grin crinkled his eyes again, and he twisted his wrist to hold Phil’s wrist in his hand instead, and pulled him to his feet.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said, face suddenly very close to Phil’s. Still grinning, Phil nodded his yes, and as Clint’s lips pressed against his in a chaste kiss, Phil was pretty sure that he’d never need to hide the name on his wrist ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, I haven't actually read any of the solo Cap comics, so I mostly just made stuff up.
> 
> Also, I couldn't fit in the explanation in the story, but Clint's wrist was wet because he got Natasha to paint over Phil's name every day using some specially made paint, and he had to go scrub it off so that he could show it to Phil. Natasha mostly rolled her eyes at Clint whenever he asked her to do it, but did it anyway; she had long ago realized that Clint could be stubborn as a bull about some things, and it was no use convincing him to change his mind, you just had to wait it out and see.


End file.
